Just One Dance
by Roscommon
Summary: Another wedding story, this time with angst. Ranger thought he'd left Stephanie behind in a noble gesture, or maybe it was just a hasty retreat. It may have been the right thing to do, but it wasn't easy. Still isn't. But now, at his former CO's wedding, Ranger finds that things may have unexpectedly changed for the better. Because… Stephanie.


_I started this story over three years ago, but my muse only just teased out how to pull it all together. It's a one-shot, not related to anything else I've written. Angst alert (possibly needing tissues) until Ranger and Stephanie get their acts together. Unsurprising spoiler: It takes them a while, especially Ranger. But they find their way to each other._

_As always, I don't own the Stephanie Plum characters, nor do I make any profit, though this story and any original characters are mine. This story is purely for entertainment, so there may be mistakes. _

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**Just One Dance**

Ranger rested against the back wall as he watched the dance floor, wishing for the first time in years that he still smoked so he'd have an excuse to go outside that didn't require an explanation. Shrugging, he considered that maybe he should take up the habit again anyway, just for the hell of it. At that thought, he looked down at the scotch in his hand and swirled the amber liquid slowly. Perhaps he should start his downward spiral with alcohol instead of cigarettes.

Grimacing slightly, he took a sip. Too bad all the simple escapes had such notable drawbacks.

The song switched to a faster number and he looked up, scanning the dance floor as he had been doing all evening. Of course, it was to keep an eye on his daughter Julie. To make sure that the slick-haired boy dancing with her— Kevin Wallach, high school junior, solid B student who liked basketball and history, no driving citations or tickets, no juvie records— kept sufficient distance between them. Ranger knew from experience how dancing at a wedding could become something more heated.

Well, not on his watch. So, as his gaze swept the floor, Ranger made sure to check out the location of Kevin's hands and hips while Julie danced. Being a relative of the groom wasn't going to give the kid a pass.

He kept his eyes on Julie too. He saw her face lifted in a teasing smile, with Kevin laughing in return. Ranger mused that Julie's smile, so bright and full of delight, looked like his own. It was the one that Stephanie had once called his two-hundred-watt smile. Ranger tamped down that memory while he watched Julie tap young Kevin on the shoulder in a mocking scold, to which he only laughed harder. Then she pulled on young mini-Wallach's hand to resume their dance and the boy willingly followed her lead.

_The young in one another's arms._ Christ what a cliché.

Feeling a disquieting mixture of pride and concern, Ranger wondered when Julie had become this spitfire. She had a young woman's charm and beauty, clearly mixed with his own fearlessness. Ranger suddenly had sympathy for his ex-wife Rachel and her husband Ron, who probably found themselves uncharitably thinking "you're just like your father" about twenty times a week.

And yes, he also felt a grudging respect, since Rachel and Ron walked this fine line of adolescent freedom and protection every day. When to hold Julie back; when to let her make her own mistakes; when to be the bad guy; when to hold her while she cried. For his part, Ranger would feel more at ease infiltrating a drug ring than holding hands through all the after-school guidance crap that filled a teenaged girl's life. Even a teenaged girl like his daughter, who he'd give his life to protect, yet again.

He felt his shoulders tense incrementally as he watched Kevin move Julie into a spin. Ranger knew exactly how to cop a feel in that maneuver. With the hypervision of an eagle on the hunt, he was relieved that the boy had enough sense to maintain hands where they could be seen.

_Good call._

Ranger resumed his review of the dancefloor. He saw the usual wedding reception mix: lovers lost in each other, friends and dates having fun, and parents laughingly dancing with children. He catalogued them all, but didn't see what he was really looking for. Though he knew it was a bad idea, he started scanning the tables around the dancefloor.

His recon of the room was interrupted by Tank's approach. A looming shadow in a tux, Tank nodded and then took his place against the wall next to Ranger. It was like when they both used to watch the room together while waiting to start the daily Rangeman stand-up. Of course, for over a year Ranger had been starting those daily meetings here in Miami with 'Nardo at his side, while Tank stood next to Bobby up in Trenton.

Tank nodded as he settled against the wall. "Good to see you still fit into your tux, bro', living here in the lap of luxury and your Aunt Maribel's _empañadas_," Tank chuckled. "You know you're going to have to wear that tux again in June. My best man has got to be duded _up_." Tank slapped Ranger on the shoulder, a move that probably would have propelled a smaller man into the spent glassware tray about three feet to Ranger's right.

Ranger merely shrugged, his lip tipped in brief amusement. "What? No baby blue penguin suits for the groomsmen?" he deadpanned, eliciting Tank's booming laugh.

"Shit, man, I can't believe you remember that," Tank chuckled again. "The only thing that made me feel better about that wedding was that you, too, looked like a refugee from an '80s disco band."

Tank waved over a waiter and asked for a bottle of sparkling water. "Bro', you know that for my wedding the ladies can wear whatever they want, but for us men it's black tuxes, white shirts, and I'm going with bowties 'cause you can clip on these bad boys." Tank fingered his tie while Ranger shifted slightly, not wanting to confess that he was wearing an old-fashioned bowtie that he'd knotted without even needing a mirror**, **thanks to his high school years spent with his old-fashioned abuela. He'd never even thought of wearing a clip-on tie.

He looked down at himself, his athletic form sheathed in crisp, tailored black. Even though the cut was excellent, Ranger felt stiff in his tux. He felt awkward, like a mannequin. It wasn't just the tie, though he'd always disliked the feel of a cloth garotte around his neck. No, it was the tux itself. He knew he looked good in it. And, if he'd had any doubts, the lingering gazes he'd gotten tonight took care of that. But really he'd prefer to be in his daily Beefy-T and cargo pants, wearing steel-toes with an ankle slot for his knife. Or, for this occasion, wearing his Army dress uniform.

He knew who he was in those clothes.

Ranger glanced at Tank. "Any clue why Wallach decided to get married with guests in civvy 'black tie' rather than Army dress?" He was genuinely curious. The groom was their pre-Rangers Army Commanding Officer, Colonel Gene Wallach. He'd retired a few years ago when his first wife was in the final stages of cancer, and should be entitled to a full dress wedding, even for his second go 'round.

There were certainly enough current and serving personnel amongst the wedding guests; probably sufficient to accomplish an overnight regime change in any number of small-to-medium countries. And, he noted with a smirk, most of the men were furtively pulling at their collars, buttoning and unbuttoning their cuffs, fiddling with cufflinks, and otherwise telegraphing how infrequently they dressed like this.

"Yeah, I asked about that," Tank replied to Ranger's question about the night's attire. "I guess Wallach did the full-dress uniform thing the first time, and again for his son's wedding last year. This time the bride didn't come from military, so he went old school." Tank gestured toward Wallach with his chin. "You know how it goes: _What a man won't do for love." _

Tank huffed in humor. "Beyond that, I suspect the 'black tie' thing was just so he could see us all penguined-up in cummerbunds. He always did like spit 'n polish."

At that moment the waiter returned with Tank's bottle of water and a refreshed scotch for Ranger. Surprised, Ranger saw that he'd finished his current drink. He switched glasses with the waiter, discreetly slipping him a tip for being observant.

Ranger took a sip as he followed Tank's gaze over to their former CO on the other side of the room. In the fifteen years that had elapsed since they'd served under Colonel Wallach, the man had started to look his age. He still had ramrod straight posture and an imposing glare, but his hair was now steel gray and lines had etched themselves across his forehead and around his eyes.

Tonight, though, Wallach was as full of life as Ranger remembered. Right now, he was making the rounds with his bride, a small red-haired woman who was radiant in a slim, beaded gown. Since Wallach lived on Biscayne Bay, a bit south of Miami, Ranger had met with the older man a few times after relocating down from Trenton. He'd heard the story over lunch: how Wallach had filled his time volunteering after his first wife, Judy, had died. How he'd felt disconnected, without his wife and his career. And how he'd found a new purpose and met his new wife Adele through Habitat for Humanity.

In his own words, Wallach had been ready to retreat into old age, only to awaken to the fireworks of love, yet again. Ranger had thought that it was more like awakening to the foolishness of love, but he'd considered it the better course of valor to keep his thoughts to himself. Wryly, Ranger reflected that his own silence on the point might even have been an unusual moment of cowardice.

Well, maybe a tactical evasion. After all, as a young man he'd been on the receiving end of enough scorching "hard home truth" lectures from Wallach. Ranger was grateful, though. His commanding officer's repeated kicks in the ass had actively helped him turn his life around.

In fact, Wallach had been the one who'd pushed both Tank and Ranger to apply to Army Ranger School. Wallach had alternately scared and inspired them, helping each of them to bootstrap themselves from lives of aimless troublemaking into something better, grooming them for careers where others had only seen rough edges.

As Ranger had come to realize, that was one of Wallach's special gifts: spotting potential that was camouflaged behind bad attitudes. Ranger turned to Tank. "So, how many of the Army Strong types in this room do you think are Wallach reclamation cases like us?"

"Oh, I think we're in good company there," Tank's bass laugh rumbled. "I've spotted Hotwire Hank, Coolio, Spanky, and Marzen from a couple of years before us, and both Takashi and Diablo from the year after ours. Billy B. and Zewalt are here from our unit. And, of course Petersen, too, though Wallach ensured he'd never be as 'dope' as we are by pushing him into JAG service instead of Rangers."

Yeah, Ranger reflected, of course that blond asshole Josh Petersen was here. Did Tank really think Ranger hadn't noticed? That was a big reason why Ranger had put off his RSVP to this event. Until Tank had decided to meddle.

"Julie sure is growing up." Tank's innocent look was belied by the amusement twinkling in his eyes.

Tank was now on Ranger's shit list. Top of the list. With an underline. _Asshole._

"Not cool, by the way, conspiring with Julie to get me here," Ranger said in the soft snarl that he knew could make gangbangers piss their pants. Tank, not so much.

"Hey, is it my fault you told me that Wallach's nephew, or maybe great-nephew, goes to her school and that she has a crush on him?"

"No, but it _is_ your fault that you told her I had a 'plus one' invitation to an event that the little bastard was sure to attend." He took a sip from his drink. "I hope to live the entire rest of my life never hearing teenaged shrieks like that again."

"Well, Rangeman, you're the only one of our year who didn't have to travel to the wedding, so suck it up." Tank shifted his gaze across the room. "And besides," he added, "you used to be a lot better at being on top of intel. Of all kinds." Tank stressed oddly, and then paused as though about to say something. Finally he shrugged. "I reckon you must be getting rusty from all the salt air down here."

Ranger stared at Tank with narrowed eyes, imagining that he was someplace where he could just haul off and slug Tank the way he deserved. If nothing else, just to wipe that superior smirk from the man's face.

Well, screw it. No fistfights at the wedding reception with his daughter in the room. Why _had _he let Julie and Tank trick him into coming tonight, anyway?

With an impatient exhale, Ranger asked, "Where's Rina? Shouldn't you be sharing your pithy words of wisdom with your fiancée instead of me?" As he spoke, Ranger's eyes skimmed the room. Rina was actually a difficult woman to miss, even sitting down. Hawaiian or Samoan— Ranger couldn't remember which— Rina was an unusually tall, beautiful woman with a blushed cork complexion, an infectious smile, and flowing dark hair. A woman who tended to stand out in a crowd.

Tank snorted. "You just can't help yourself, man. But maybe it's for the best, since you're such a stubborn S.O.B." Tank paused, then tilted his chin toward the tables on the other side of the room. In a practiced casual tone, Tank added, "Last I saw, Rina was headed to the ladies' room with Steph."

Glancing sideways at Ranger, Tank continued, "You know, you can bust me all you want for bringing Julie into this, but you were always gonna have to attend this wedding. You could have saved yourself daddy duty— not to mention an evening full of evasive maneuvers on a gimpy leg— if you had invited Muffy as your plus-one."

"Misty," Ranger corrected reflexively, keeping his face blank. Tank never seemed to tire of that particular game. "You already know I haven't dated her for a few months," Ranger didn't bother to hide the annoyance in his voice. He was also ignoring that his injured leg was indeed starting to ache after so much time standing in one place. Leave it to Tank to remind him of pain that he had managed to ignore until now.

"Yeah, I guess it has been a while since you mentioned her," Tank answered vaguely. Ranger followed Tank's gaze and saw Stephanie emerge from the bathroom with Rina, both of them laughing. Stephanie clapped her hands by her heart in a gesture that Ranger recognized with a twinge.

"And it's not like you'd ever listen to anyone about relationships," Tank rumbled. Then, as he pushed off the wall, obviously headed back to his lady, he looked back at Ranger. Pointedly, he added, "But I guess you dated Minky long enough to make your point."

"Misty," Ranger ground out, glaring at Tank's back. _Asshole. _

Of course, if Ranger felt like being honest, it was true that Misty had been rather forgettable. Another piece of blonde, statuesque arm-candy of the type Ranger used to favor before he'd settled in Trenton. Not too much in the attic though she'd made up for it downstairs. But, dammit anyway, why was it a problem if Ranger decided he wanted a little female companionship? After all, how many times had Stephanie left both him and Joe in the lurch?

And that was the crux of it, right there.

Ranger frowned, swirling his scotch, and then shotgunned the remainder of the glass. Tank could take jabs all he wanted, but how many times had Ranger needed to spy Stephanie with another man before he got the idea? Of course, he'd always thought the other man who would ultimately claim her was Joe Morelli. Guess she'd fooled them both.

Ranger gazed at the now-empty glass in his hand. Idly, he imagined that somewhere in Trenton, Morelli was similarly staring at the filmy, amber glimmer of a newly emptied glass as though it held a missed signpost to his life.

He considered waving down a waiter for a refill, then remembered he'd skipped most of dinner. Yeah, it was probably a bad idea to have yet another drink at the moment. After all, he was responsible for Julie's safety tonight.

So instead, he walked over to the waiter's tray and deposited his glass. He knew his gait was stiff, a bit uneven, from the contusion on his leg from the takedown two nights ago. Tank had told him he was an idiot for still chasing after the low-level perps himself when he had a whole company to do it. But hey, nothing like a little hands-on action to keep life interesting. Of courseLes— in town this week for a different reason— had happily mentioned that nobody would know the difference since Ranger always walked like he had a grenade clutched up his ass when he wore a suit.

Ranger smirked to himself at being a dangerous asshole in any context. Then, spotting the nearest table, he nodded at the group of ex-military reliving glory days over drinks and dessert, seemingly oblivious to the pulsing music around them. As a couple of the men returned his nod and resumed their energetic conversation, Ranger picked up a clean glass from the table and poured a full measure of water from the pitcher.

Sipping as he stood alongside the table, Ranger reflected that he was grateful for this day with Julie, even though he was decidedly peeved at Tank for using her enthusiasm to maneuver him into attending. His daughter was off limits; not someone to be used against him. Ranger would be sure to make that clear.

And yet, with most visits supervised, he rarely got to see the unguarded pleasure his daughter took in life. And it was so pure, so simple. It radiated from her glowing smile when he'd arrived to pick her up this afternoon. He felt it in the warmth of her hand as she'd reached to entwine her fingers with his during the ceremony. He heard it in her lively chatter at the table during the portion of dinner he'd managed to attend.

Ranger exhaled. Of all the accomplishments in his life, the miracle of his completely unplanned daughter was perhaps the best thing he'd ever done.

He quickly spotted her, now dancing in a ring with a group of people roughly her age. Seeing her energy, he recalled the father-daughter dance from earlier this evening. It was another memory from tonight that he'd treasure.

Because, when the bride's elderly father had opened the dance to all fathers and daughters at the reception, Julie had almost skipped over to him with coltish enthusiasm, shedding the sophistication of moments prior. He'd been stunned when she'd pulled him from the table, smiling as she gazed up at him. Ranger had found himself blinking his eyes to clear them as he'd pulled her into a simple box step.

It was a moment he'd never imagined he'd have. Especially after he'd missed a chance at a _Quinciñera_ dance with his daughter, finally bowing to Rachel and Ron's refusal to let him spend lavishly on a party to introduce Julie into the Cuban society within which she wasn't being raised.

Of course, someday Julie would be old enough to be the bride dancing with her father. But that would be Ron, not Ranger. So, here at his former commanding officer's wedding, he'd led his daughter around the dance floor to a country song he didn't recognize, his heart practically exploding with pride.

He'd seen Stephanie during that dance. Her expression had been lit in a bright, delighted smile, and Ranger knew he'd lost his blank expression momentarily. But then he'd realized that Steph was focused on Julie, watching her exuberance. Unfortunately, Julie had spotted her too, and reached up to unnecessarily shout, "There's Steph!" in his ear.

Ranger had agreed, mustering a pleasant and noncommittal expression, while leading Julie into a turn that coincidentally changed the direction of his gaze to the other side of the room. All too soon, though, the song ended, and a faster, more youthful tune began playing.

Then, he'd made a show of releasing her to dance with young Wallach, who'd been hovering nearby. As Ranger had backed toward their table on the far side of the floor, he hadn't missed the frowning consideration on Julie's face over her new admirer's shoulder. Nor the glance she'd darted to the other side of the room, toward Stephanie.

Now, easing himself into a seat alongside a different table, perhaps an hour later, he was starting to tire of the evening. He started pouring a second glass of water. And then, his breath hitched as the melody of familiar laughter from across the room caused his eyes to dart up without conscious thought. And suddenly, Ranger could see nothing but Stephanie. Even from across the room, he could see the sparkle in her smile as she replied to one of the women at her table. If he concentrated on her lips, combined with the expressive language of her hands, he might be able to make out her words even from this distance.

Ranger suspected that Stephanie hadn't known most of her companions before this evening. Yet there she was, lifting her fluted glass in a toast that her new friends joined without hesitation. As he watched, she brushed back a corkscrew curl that had freed itself from the clips festooned in the elegant wildness of her hair.

She still took his breath away.

Of course, he'd known Stephanie's location. Truth be told, he'd known it ever since arriving at the church for the wedding. She'd been sitting in the middle of the fifth pew on the groom's side, next to her blond, muscular boy-toy, Peterson. As soon as Ranger had walked in, he'd seen her rubbing the back of her neck and looking around.

He'd positioned himself and Julie in a back pew, always his preferred choice with a wall at his back and line-of-site to all of the doors. The fact that there had been a pillar obstructing the view between their location and Stephanie's had, of course, been a pure coincidence. Then, as soon as the ceremony had allowed, he'd propelled himself and Julie out before Steph had reason to head in his direction. First in the congratulations line, quickly to the car, and awkwardness mostly avoided.

After one allowed for Julie's complaints, of course.

After passing through the gauntlet of the ceremony, the reception hadn't been as much of a challenge. There were enough guests, enough toasts, and enough structured time that he'd been able to keep his distance. And, if he'd needed to exit the ballroom for an extended work-related phone call at the point when Stephanie had approached during dinner, well that was nothing unusual. He ran a two-hundred-plus security company, for chrissake.

And yes, Julie hadn't been pleased. Despite that, Ranger's occasional glances into the room during his call had revealed that his daughter had taken full advantage of having private time with Steph at the table.

After returning to the vacated chair at his daughter's side just in time for dessert, Ranger had weathered her glare. Not to mention the calculated stares he'd intercepted from various quadrants of the room. But, screw them. Surely Ranger's evasive maneuvers were the best move, since Stephanie was here with her latest man. No need to confuse things. No need to go back to another romantic tangle when Peterson was so clearly a better suitor for someone like her.

Even so, hearing the bell of her laughter just now, he briefly wondered how he'd ever gotten the strength to simply walk away from the instinctive pleasure he felt at so simple a sound.

As an answer to that unspoken question, he felt the surge of emotions that flamed under his memories of Stephanie. And, while over a year had passed since he'd relocated to Miami, those emotions were still alive. Smouldering disappointment that she'd repeatedly elected to return to Joe right after things seemed to become serious with Ranger. Sparks of frustration that he, himself, had possibly set that pattern in motion by following his typical playbook with woman. Beyond that, flickering along all his nerves was a deep sense of betrayal.

And anger. Yes, that was there, as well. Though to be fair, that particular emotion had been his companion far longer than he'd known Stephanie.

The music slipped to a slower tune as Ranger stood and moved back toward the wall, closer to the kitchen door this time. He knew from experience that people tended to ignore that location. Or, at least, to dismiss questions about people stationed there with a vague sense that they were seeing security, or perhaps a supervisor. And, as long as he didn't block the path, waitstaff didn't mind.

Despite his new location, his mind was still fixed on Stephanie. He remembered the events that had marked his turning point in his relationship with her. He'd had plenty of time to clarify his memories during long, sleepless nights spent watching the palms outside his Miami bedroom window, with or without Misty at his side.

But obviously he hadn't yet put his feelings behind him. Because he could still feel his temper flare as he recalled finding that she'd abandoned him for Joe, yet again, afterweeks of attention and a special dinner he'd set up, painstakingly, just for her. It was like a cliché: after a night to remember, she'd packed her toiletries, grabbed her hamster, and run to the safety of another man's house. If that wasn't clear enough, her skittishness over the next few days had left no room for doubt.

It frankly shouldn't have surprised him, but it had felt like being gut-shot.

He'd wondered whether he would have tried wooing her one more time, but then had made the tactical error of including her in the JAG-related case that had introduced her to Josh Peterson. As a business decision, it had made sense: she was his expert at finding people, and that was the exact skill Peterson's team had needed.

But Ranger couldn't miss the closeness that quickly developed between those two. And, despite his anger at again being shunted aside for another man, he'd admitted that Peterson might be better for her. Smart and tough, he was nevertheless a safer, probably better socialized man than Ranger. Someone she could bring to family dinners who could actually find something to discuss at the table.

So when, coincidentally, a set of lawsuits for unnecessary force had been filed against Miami Rangeman, Ranger had been almost relieved to volunteer to provide firm, on-site leadership in the troubled office. Within a week, he'd left for Miami, and shortly after arranged for his Trenton penthouse to be cleared and made available to Tank.

Busy with reestablishing order in the Miami office— busting heads or balls when necessary— and participating in the day-to-day operations, his mind had stayed focused, his resolve secure. After-hours had not been as easy. At first, there had been more than a few nights when he'd had too many drinks and he'd needed to restrain the urge to call her; to hear the soft muffled sound of her voice while she was waking up. To hear her ask why he'd left.

Facing facts, though, it had frankly taken her almost a month to call him. First, a flighty "I miss you" message on his phone. Then another regaled him with apparently amusing FTA stories. Yet another told him she was moving to a new apartment after one-too-many break ins. None that really told him anything of substance. None that asked anything of him.

He hadn't called back and eventually she'd stopped calling him, as well. It didn't matter, Ranger reasoned. Distance seemed better for both of them.

Well, this type of distracting trip down memory lane was exactly why distance from Stephanie was a good idea, Ranger thought as he refocused on the room around him.

Some sort of line dance started. He saw Julie look around for him, and then shake her head before joining her friends for the song. Ranger pulled back further in the shadows as he saw Tank, whose broad smile was focused on Rina as they slow-walked their way through the choreography. Stephanie had stepped up with a group of women from her table and was laughing as they all collided during one fairly energetic move. The groom, Wallach, stood with his bride at the edge of the dancefloor, gazing at his new wife Adele as she swayed with the dancers, smiling brightly.

It was picture perfect, and of course several people had their phones out, taking photos or movies. Ranger frowned, realizing he hadn't taken any of Julie this evening. But then, as he started to reach for his phone, her group slipped behind other dancers. He'd have to try a little harder in the evening's remaining time.

Fortunately, he knew the official photographer had captured them both in this afternoon's handshake line as light had started to shade into evening, and tonight at the table. He'd seen the silly picture she and the younger members of the wedding party had taken in a photo booth in the back, but that was for her to keep. Beyond that, he suspected Julie had been captured in various photos due to her proximity to mini-Wallach and made a mental note to check on that.

But really, he had all the images he needed of his lovely, precocious daughter already firmly in his mind.

Thinking about images of people in his mind, he realized that he hadn't seen Stephanie's date, Josh Peterson, for a while. That was odd, so he looked around and finally spotted the man on the other side of the room, deep in conversation with a couple of men Ranger didn't recognize.

Ranger's lips pressed into a frown; hadn't Stephanie had enough of that treatment from Joe? And, frankly, from himself as well? He firmly reminded himself that it wasn't his business, anymore. Regardless, he made another mental note; this time to have a chat with Peterson sometime in the coming week to make sure he treated Stephanie with the attention she deserved.

Then he realized that was probably one of the stupider ideas he'd had this evening. Maybe he should wait until he was fully sober before adding that to his list.

After a while, the music changed and his focus returned to his daughter. It was a slower song, but he was relieved to see that mini-Wallach was still behaving himself. It looked like he was trying to teach Julie a couple of showy dance moves. Right now they were working on a swing-out with kicks. Ranger watched as they laughed together; she'd obviously lost the beat. Then he saw Julie's victorious pleasure as she picked it back up and moved in rhythm.

Ranger found himself smiling. This time he pulled out his phone and took a short movie, capturing the flushed look on his daughter's face and the doe-like grace that she imparted to each move.

As he finished and put his phone away, he decided it was time to sit down, again. It had become harder to ignore the now-persistent pain in his leg. Beyond that, leaning near the swinging kitchen door wasn't getting him anything beyond sympathetic looks from the waitstaff. He pushed himself off the embossed paneling and headed to his assigned table, which was almost abandoned at this point.

After greeting the older couple who was still seated there, he relaxed into one of the chairs. As he poured himself a new glass of water, the current song ended and he saw Julie headed his way.

"Ranger, I'm so glad you brought me here tonight," she enthused, flushed and slightly breathless. "But why do you keep lurking on the sidelines?" Flopping down in the next chair, she reached out and gingerly poked his arm. "You don't have to be my one-man guard dog tonight, you know." Gaze slanting toward him, she added, "I've watched you all evening. You should be having fun. You should dance or go hang out at one of the tables with your friends."

He looked at his daughter, who looked so much like him, but with the hope of youth shining in her chestnut eyes. "Jules, this is fine." Seeing his own stubborn expression come over her face, he felt his lips quirk with humor. "I'm just doing my thing; I'm not a social butterfly like you. You're a pretty good dancer, you know that?"

"Ranger," she stomped her foot, "I'm not five years old anymore. I know you're trying to change the subject." At his shrug, she sat up so her face was almost level with his. "You're just being a big dope, you know that? You should ask Stephanie to dance. Just one dance! At least talk to her."

Ranger stared at her, marshalling an argument that Julie might understand. "Jules, Stephanie's with her friends and I don't want to butt in." As her expression didn't change, he added, "And my leg hurts so I'd rather sit and watch you enjoy yourself." He reached out for her hand, hoping she'd take the bait.

Instead, Julie shook her head and pulled her hand away, eyes flashing. "Why are adults so stupid? You're here, she's here." Her right hand waved in Stephanie's general direction while her gaze speared his. "I remember seeing you try to sneak out of bed after getting shot in the neck. So, since your leg is fine to go lean against the wall, maybe you and your leg can just go sit at her table instead of all the way over here."

Her eyes squinted. "And, wait. Why are we sitting all the way over here with the bride's relatives, rather than with Rangeman, or with Stephanie." Her voice lowered a half octave, and suddenly she sounded exactly like her mother. "Did you rearrange the seating chart?"

"Jules, it's complicated," he replied, straight faced even as he knew he'd heard Stephanie use that exact excuse so many times when he, himself, had thought things were quite straightforward. And, yes, he had indeed charmed the event planner to rearrange the seating chart. Glancing at his daughter's face, it was clear she had determined his culpability without any admission from him.

"Ranger, sometimes you… you just suck!" She stood, glaring at him with hands on her hips before spinning on her toes and stomping back to the dance floor. The couple sharing his table had tastefully decided to have a self-absorbed conversation with each other at that moment.

_Well that went well_, Ranger thought. Hero to zero in less than three minutes; possibly a new personal best. Once again, he admitted that Rachel and Ron were obviously more suited for parental responsibilities. He'd heard that adolescence was a challenge, but now he was living the reality. He needed to remember to send them an extra holiday gift this year.

As he mused, his former CO, the groom, had approached the table. Ranger started to stand, but Wallach shook his head. "At ease, son," the man's gruff voice murmured as he lowered himself into the chair that Julie had just vacated. "Give me an excuse to sit for a moment and recharge my batteries," Wallach leaned back with a rueful smile. "I guess I should've paid attention to the size of the ballroom my Adele rented after she told me we were inviting additional people to the reception."

Ranger barked out a laugh, then scanned the room adding up tables and multiplying chairs. "This is… what? A hundred fifty?"

"Thereabouts. Adele's family is large, and her social circle is even larger," Wallach chuckled. "And since her cousin manages this venue and runs the catering, we were always going to have a big party." He leaned back. "Bottom line: it made her happy. Beyond that, it gave me an excuse to invite more of my people. And I won't lie: it does a man good to see so many turn out to their retired commander's wedding."

"It's an honor to be invited, sir."

It was Wallach's turn to laugh. "Now don't be bullshitting a bullshitter, Manoso. You've never been one to fall back to protocol when straight talk was an option." He snorted. "Even when it wasn't an option, as I recall. And I have a damn good memory."

Ranger shrugged. "Just saying what I'm thinking."

"Well all right, then. I accept the compliment." He paused and they both sat quietly for a moment. In the background, the song changed to one with a faster tempo, causing a minor reshuffling of the dance floor. Across the room, Julie approached Steph's table. Again, Stephanie's smile called to him as she hugged his daughter. He watched as Stephanie reached out to smooth back a lock of Julie's straight, ebony hair over her ear. At that intimate gesture, he looked away.

Wallach cleared his throat. "But speaking of straight talk, I can't help but notice that you've been on perimeter guard most of tonight. And I don't remember assigning you that particular duty. So what's up? Anything I should be aware of?"

"I just don't mingle that much." Ranger took a sip of his water.

"Well, that's a load of Bravo Sierra, son. Or since I'm a civilian now, a load of BS. Like I said, I have a good memory, and I remember you and Pierre— I guess he's Tank now— and Peterson and any number of others from your barracks out on the town. I remember the calls I got, and the warnings I had to give. So try again."

"That was a long time ago, sir. Went through a few changes since then."

His former commander's eyes narrowed. "Uh huh." The man's piercing, amber gaze didn't waver.

Ranger was suddenly aware of the beaded sweat of moisture on the outside of his water glass. He returned it to the table. "I'm just enjoying a rare evening of watching over my daughter." His chin pointed in Julie's direction.

"Ah," Wallach nodded. "She's a lovely girl, by the way. Do I remember that you and her mother separated?"

"Divorced."

"Ah," Wallach repeated. "I see more of that than I'd like among you younger men. But I'm glad to see you're still doing right by your girl. I'm glad you brought her." His head tilted. "I just hope you didn't leave your special lady sitting at home. You could've asked to bring her, too. One more guest wouldn't have mattered to the budget." He chuckled quietly, then smiled knowingly. "And then I would've had the pleasure to meet her."

"No special lady to invite," Ranger replied, looking into the distance. He could feel the older man's regard and felt compelled to explain, "I'm not exactly relationship material."

"I see. Why is that?"

"Running a company keeps me busy. And, as you know, I still take on clandestine work. Dangerous work. It's not a life that I've found compatible with long term relationships." He shrugged. "Who wants to spend their life with a man who sleeps with a gun and hunting knives within easy reach?"

"Well, if someone chooses to be with you even knowing all of that, then it's their decision, not yours."

Ranger's eyebrow quirked. "More to the point, who wants to spend their life with a man who prefers perimeter duty— rather than dancing— at a wedding party?"

"Uh huh." Wallach clearly wasn't hewing to Ranger's point of view. But, what could one expect from the happy groom at today's wedding? The silence stretched as both men looked into the distance.

Wallach's gruff voice interrupted his thoughts. "You know, son, my career's been different than yours. That said, I've seen a lot of shit. Done my own time on FUBAR missions from hell. Worked life-long with men and women to prepare them for dangerous engagements, and spent even more time with a few of them after they've come home."

He ran a hand over his steel gray hair. "Here's what I've learned, all boiled down. It's not easy for anyone in the service. Long deployments, sacrifices, dealing with a lifetime of bad dreams and night shakes. Frankly, we expect to go into battle and die before our wives. We visualize them sitting there, weeping over the folded flag and all it means, at a loss without us." Ranger automatically followed the flick of the older man's gaze to the table where the man's new bride was seated. He made sure his eyes were looking forward, again, by the time Wallach returned focus to him.

His former officer's shoulders straightened. "Some men— a few women, too— lean into the precious impermanence of life and live like there's no tomorrow. Some build a mental boundary to avoid being a warrior in their own home. Some, like you Manoso, decide to hold back so your woman never needs to go through that."

"It's not that simple and you know it." Ranger frowned, a thunderous expression that would daunt many men, It didn't faze the hard-boiled man in front of him.

"I do know that. And it's never simple; never really one approach or the other." Wallach placed his hands on the table with a light slap. "But here's my point. Someone like you holds back, thinking that you're placing others in the 'safe zone'. But really, you're just isolating yourself. Maybe you like being a martyr; maybe you just haven't figured out how to be a civilian again. There are as many reasons as there are men— and women— who go this way. But here's the goddamn truth of it. You and the ones you push away go through all the pain of separation and loss anyhow. And meanwhile, you miss what could have been days, weeks, and maybe even years of a good life."

"That's one perspective," Ranger consciously smoothed his expression.

"Yup. And it's a damn good one, based on being an old soldier who's seen a lot." Then Wallach chuckled, placing his hand briefly on Ranger's shoulder. "Well, that's enough tongue lashing for tonight. I may be married again, but I'm the same sonofabitch I've always been. You can ask any of your old R&R group who are all, interestingly enough, at the tables that I assigned." His smile turned a bit wicked. "Made it easier to pick 'em from line, one by one, and share my thoughts."

Ranger couldn't help his brief laugh as the older man stood, Inwardly he agreed that his former commander was, indeed, still the same sonofabitch he'd always been.

"Well, I've left Adele for long enough. It's time for us to leave and let you young folks close out the night. And, as a bonus, I promise to refrain from personal discussion when we next meet for lunch. Back to business and mission planning. Unless, of course, you bring up your love life."

"Not likely."

"I've seen stranger things," Wallach laughed. This time he slapped Ranger lightly on the back before turning away toward his bride. Ranger noted that Adele was watching her husband return, a smile blooming on her face as he approached.

Ranger looked away, pushing his chair back as he stood. After waving down a waiter for one last drink, slipping the man the cost of the scotch as well as a liberal tip, he moved toward one of the open-air arches behind him.

He saw Julie's gimlet stare from across the room. He recognized the look; it was his own glare. The one he'd mentally named, "tell me punk, do you feel lucky?" He'd seen that expression often enough, whether reflected in a mirror, in windows, or from the metallic glasses of some asshole who was about to go down. Apparently that look was in his DNA.

Fortunately, mini-Wallach took that moment to approach his daughter, capturing her attention before sitting next to her. The boy still had star power, Ranger mused, seeing Julie's fierce expression revert to humor at something the boy said.

Taking advantage of the moment, he walked through the arch behind him onto an open-air veranda, As the waiter delivered his drink, Ranger leaned on the stone balustrade that ringed the space. He could smell night-blooming flowers on the breeze and hear the susurrus of traffic in the distance overlaid by the rhythm of the nearby ocean's surf. If this were a wedding in his family, this would be the enclave where the men retreated for cigars and rum. Tonight, it was simply an empty veranda, for which Ranger was grateful.

Turning slightly from the ballroom, he gazed at the view beyond. A ring of majestic, tall palm trees swayed nearby in the moonlight, with younger plantings artfully dotting the grounds and hiding the parking area. The wafting breeze was almost cool, with its hint of jasmine, pine, and ocean's salt. In the far distance, he saw the city's skyline rise from atop the greenery like a reminder of the world to which he'd return tomorrow.

But for tonight, he raised his scotch for a sip, savoring the slow, rich burn of a classic single malt. Fortified, he set down the glass to finally loosen his tie and the top button of his shirt.

The dance music had changed yet again, and he found himself resisting the urge to sway to the beat. It wasn't a tropical danzón or salsa mix that he'd expect from weddings in his family, but still it was danceable. The type of music one might expect for a reception featuring a number of older guests. Amused, he felt as though he were one of the distant buildings being tempted to join the sensuous sway of the nearby palms.

He took another sip of his scotch, leaning into the night air.

Despite his preoccupation, he couldn't miss the unmistakable sound of sandal heels clicking from wooden floor to balcony flagstone in a rhythm he'd know anywhere. Before he even had a chance to turn, he heard Stephanie's voice.

"Ranger, why are you hiding out?" she asked quietly with just a hint of exasperation. Oh, how he remembered that tone of voice.

He turned to gaze at the woman who'd haunted his evening. Haunted his life, to be honest, for the past few years. Fittingly, she was almost a shadow in the backlight cast from the ballroom lights. But then, as she emerged onto the veranda, she was fully present in a way that still caught him by surprise. Her hair, like the chaos of life suspended mid pulse; her eyes vividly blue; her face combining more emotions than Ranger could catalog. Not to mention her characteristic scent under her perfume.

It all said _Stephanie_.

And all of Ranger was transfixed. Needing to break away, he tipped his lips slightly in a sardonic amusement. "Misplace your date, Steph?"

"No. And, since you didn't ask, Josh and I aren't dating anymore. Not for a few months. I'm surprised all the gun-toting gossips at Rangeman didn't break it to you yet."

_Well, of course they had_, Ranger admitted silently. Tank, Les, Bobby, and Silvio had, one by one, shared the news. It had been an unpleasant, visceral reminder of how gossip used to swirl about Stephanie's and Morelli's serial breakups and makeups. He'd made it clear that it wasn't his business anymore and he didn't want to hear about it.

Probably seeing skepticism in Ranger's expression, she elaborated, "It took a while, but we decided we're better as friends. Much better." She exhaled, murmuring low, "Wish I'd figured it out faster with Joe." Ranger was sure that Stephanie had meant to keep that to herself.

"Hmm," Ranger disciplined his features to a cool disinterest. "That's why you flew all the way to Florida with him to attend the wedding of someone you don't know."

She rolled her eyes. "Like I said, Josh and I are friends. He didn't have anyone to be his 'plus one', so he invited me." She hesitated just a second; enough for Ranger to spot that she was hedging her answer.

"Dates to weddings are often something more."

With a huff of breath, she retorted, "This isn't why I came out here to find you. But I'd like to take this moment to point out that your 'plus one' at this wedding is your daughter. Amazingly, it looks like 'plus one' isn't always a date."

"I imagine Peterson has a different, possibly more amorous theory on why you're here," he ground out, and his thoughts turned to his time in Hawaii. To the trip when he'd thought bounty hunting help was the perfect pretext to woo the woman in front of him. As he'd discovered, though, Stephanie had a rather different view of their activities during that trip. He shrugged in studied nonchalance. "Maybe it's a chance to rekindle what you both had."

She rolled her eyes, her hands flexed in front of her as though preparing to strangle a ball of invisible thoughts. And Ranger wondered, not for the first time, what was it about this Jersey girl that made him long for even these gestures of pure vexation?

And, why were her eyes glistening, as though on the verge of tears?

"You've been surveilling the floor the whole evening, Ranger. Don't think I haven't seen you. In all that time, have you seen us dance together? Me and Josh? I mean, I danced with Tank, and your daughter, and other people, but not Josh." Her nostrils flared, and Ranger wasn't sure if it was in fury or simply to inhale deeply. "Josh knows exactly why I'm here. That's why, if you peek over my shoulder, you'll probably see him looking this way, having drinks with Tank. Or doing something else that totally doesn't look like a jealous fit."

Despite his discipline, Ranger found himself taking Stephanie's dare and looking over her shoulder. She hadn't guessed quite correctly. Josh was alone, nursing a drink; it seemed he'd also figured out how to persuade the waitstaff to provide a late _digestif_. Ranger couldn't quite read Peterson's expression, but it looked a bit like calculation. A bit like humor. And then, the man raised his glass toward Ranger and Stephanie in what almost seemed to be a toast as he took a sip and turned slightly. Within a moment, Peterson was indeed chatting with Tank.

"Hmm," Ranger heard himself grumble.

"Ranger," she repeated. "You're an idiot, sometimes."

"So I've been told."

"But sometimes I am, too. And that's really why I'm here."

Ranger blinked, worried that he'd had a bit more to drink than he could handle and, perhaps, had missed part of the conversation.

"You're here because you're an idiot?" He heard himself ask, and then put down the remainder of his scotch. Clearly the theory that he was possibly inebriated needed to be considered.

"No, jeez. Obviously that's not what I meant," she shook her head in an unmistakable "are you stupid" gesture, then inhaled deeply. "Ranger, coming down here was totally an excuse to see you, all right? Since you never come to Trenton, and dodge meetings by sending 'Nardo or Silvio instead of coming yourself." She sniffed. "And I didn't want to rely on the phone, because… well, just because."

She lifted her face, her jaw resolute, her eyes gleaming like sapphires, if still a bit watery. "The thing is, being with Josh, dating him, was almost right. Almost what I wanted. Almost."

She halted, her throat working without words coming forth. Not sure why she was telling him this, he still knew her well enough to care. Even if he might possibly need to provide relationship advice for the blond enemy across the ballroom. He leaned forward slightly, as carefully as he might approach a spooked animal. "What was missing, Stephanie?"

She looked down, the thumbnail of one hand chipping at the nail on her other hand. "You," her voice, at first, was so quiet he almost missed it in the start of a new, energetic song from the dancefloor. "I missed you, Ranger. Even with your stupid 'two guns and a knife' and 'don't do relationships' nonsense. I realized that I'd already had what I wanted, with you. What I never had with Joe and was missing with Josh."

Her gaze shifted directly into his. The mix of emotions was like a whirlpool on a clear day: sparkling, unfathomable, dangerous, and astonishingly beautiful.

She inhaled again. "Ranger, I realized that I already had _you_. But I was afraid, so I kept pushing you away."

He reached out to dust her cheek with his fingers before he realized that she might not welcome the gesture, and pulled back. Sadly, he conceded, "I understand, Steph. I'm a dangerous man, sometimes. Not the kind of man you'd want in your life. I can understand being frightened of me."

She tilted her head, squinting. "Ugh," she stamped her foot and Ranger had to curb his no-doubt inappropriate amusement at this familiar gesture. "No, that's not what I meant, at all." She extended her hand until it touched his fingers on the balustrade. "I was never frightened of _you_. I was frightened of what it would mean to commit to you." She pressed his fingers before withdrawing her hand, finding the edge of her shawl and twisting her fingers loosely in the weave. "I wouldn't be able to take that back. I'd want to dive in and not look back. And that was scary."

She looked up again, her lashes glistening with the hint of unformed tears, and Ranger was sure he looked stunned.

"Ranger, I think I was afraid of _me_. Or, I guess, of my own feelings."

"Babe, I don't know what to say," he murmured, honestly. This conversation hadn't gone at all the way he'd imagined.

"It's okay. Because it's my turn, anyway. What I need to say is: I'm sorry." She blinked and a couple of rogue tears escaped the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry because I think you were trying to commit to me. Though," she glared pointedly for a moment. "Can I point out that words would have helped?" She shook her head. "But, regardless, I think you were trying to give me what I wanted and I ran away. And I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," he replied, adding this to all the other "might have beens" and "almost hads" he'd racked up in his life. He briefly wondered if this was what Wallach had been trying to explain to him, earlier. Having the pain of a failed relationship without actually having the relationship was turning out to be a real bitch.

She reached up and dabbed at her face with the corner of her shawl. Knowing her the way he did, he gently moved her hand aside and reached out with his pocket square to wipe away the trace amounts of smeared mascara she'd left behind.

"There," he almost smiled. "Good as new."

"Thanks," she looked up. "You know, it was Josh's idea," she half blurted.

Ranger felt his eyebrow drift upward as his mood shifted in the other direction. This had the sound of a long and confusing story about some wonderful thing Josh had done. Or, perhaps, the invitation to provide a pep talk to get her relationship with the other man back on track. Nevertheless, he resolved to listen and provide her the advice he could. His leg, though, was starting to throb. If this turned out to be a long conversation, he might need to relocate to one of the stone benches along the wall.

Despite his concerns about his alcohol level, he considered reaching for the remainder of his scotch. Then she resumed speaking and he realized he didn't need the drink, after all.

"Josh was the one who suggested I should come down here to see you in person. To apologize, and also to see what we still might have, you and I, that is." Her gaze fixed on his, shy and brave, and he could not look away.

"Are you sure that's what he really meant?" He couldn't help asking.

"Yeah, I'm sure. And both Tank and Bobby agreed when I asked them if this was a good idea. They've all known you, like, forever." She snorted. "And they all basically agreed that you and I are crap at communicating about our real feelings and the only hope we have is to meet face-to-face."

Ranger exhaled in humor. "Probably true," he acknowledged while mentally adding Bobby to his shit list. He and Stephanie might be crap at communicating, but his so-called friends seemed to be spending a lot more time conspiring rather than telling him what was on their minds. Wallach's words, earlier, might have stung in the moment, but Ranger had to credit his CO for being a straight shooter.

He resolved to take that lesson to heart, at least as best he could.

Meanwhile, Stephanie had continued. "So I practiced this conversation about a hundred times. Well, maybe like a thousand times. But really what I want to say is that I hope we can at least be friends again. Without the big avoiding-each-other thing." She paused for another inhale. "Tank says you're not going out with the blonde cheerleader anymore. Misty, I think her name was."

"Yeah, Misty." He was starting to rue the extra scotch he'd brought to the veranda, recalling that he always needed to stay on his toes in conversations with Stephanie. There was no telling where she'd go next. With a moment's thought, he decided that she didn't actually care that Misty was a stewardess, not a cheerleader. So he simply replied, "Tank is right. I'm not seeing her anymore."

He noted that her fingers had rediscovered the edge of her shawl, and were starting to work on fraying the seam.

"Steph," he pulled her hand up, cradling it gently in his. "It's okay. We _are _friends," he reassured. "I lost track of that for a bit, but I promise it's true. And you know I don't lie."

She looked down at their joined hands, nibbling her lip. Ranger felt his face relax into amusement at this familiar gesture. Maybe she was deep in thought, maybe she was unsure, or maybe she was trying to figure out how to compress the whirling lattice of her thoughts, emotions, and instincts into mere words. He didn't know, but at the moment it didn't matter. The warmth of her hand in his was enough.

"Ranger?" She finally looked up. "Do you think we could even be more than friends?" Her voice was smooth, but her eyes were open wide as though she were taking an unimaginable dare. Ranger idly noted that the blue of her dress perfectly matched the cornflower of her irises.

Apparently he stayed silent a moment too long, as she rushed to add, "Maybe not now, you know. Like, maybe over time, since we're only just now starting again as friends. It could be something we figure out as we go." Her gaze returned to her hand, enveloped in his. "You know, if you want."

"Stephanie," he pressed her fingers and stilled her flow of words. "I've said that someday maybe we could be together. But I'm still the man I've always been. I haven't changed." He forced himself to exhale.

"I know who you are," she pulled her fingers from his and whapped him on the arm. "That's the whole point. I came all the way here because I _do _know you. You're the confusing man who uses only three words when fifteen would do; who does impossible things to bail me out of trouble; and who tells me he loves me and then completely backs off. _I love you in my own way_; recognize those words, you big dope?"

Ranger couldn't help laughing as she finished. How many people had the audacity to call him a big dope? With a mental shrug he admitted that almost all of them were at tonight's reception.

"I do remember, Steph. I meant what I said. That hasn't changed."

"Good, because I love you too, in my own way. And jeez, I can't tell you why that's always been so hard to say, but it has. Anyhow, I'm done running away from that feeling, and avoiding it. Whether we're friends or more, it's true."

Ranger suspected his jaw had dropped. Or maybe time itself had stopped. In any case, once again he wasn't sure what to say.

So of course Stephanie solved that problem for him as she stepped closer to him. "Since we're both here, and there's music, could we maybe have a dance together, like the start of something new?"Her eyes were watching his as though the answer was there, rather than in anything he might say. "I know Julie said your leg is injured, but maybe just one dance?"

_Should I back away, now, while I can? _His stubborn mind asked, remembering the past months he'd spent laboring to get over this woman, moving over a thousand miles to get distance. He remembered his anger from earlier, but realized that it didn't matter. Because, as he reached out his hand to lift the one that Stephanie had dropped, he already knew the answer. Because for the first time since he'd left Trenton, he felt a new emotion: hope.

Hand in hand, he walked them through the arch into the ballroom. Even before they reached the dancefloor, he pulled her toward himself, his arms guiding her into a smooth waltz rhythm that worked with the current song. And that, he wryly admitted, also favored his leg. Though, honestly, he wasn't feeling the pain as much, now. Not nearly.

He felt her move with him. One of her hands was secure in his grasp, the other rested on his shoulder as though they had danced together hundreds of times.

Why they hadn't done so, Ranger wasn't sure. But one dance was more than enough to start, he thought to himself. An opening. The first move in a choreography they could figure out together with, perhaps, more effort but less confusion. More chances to see Stephanie's guarded yet hopeful smile glimmering up at him. To feel her in his arms again where she fit so amazingly well.

He truly was tired of being alone. He suspected that Wallach had sensed that tonight.

Oh, there was a lot to figure out. He was settled, now, in Miami and she lived in Trenton. She had an affinity to physical danger and risk, while fiercely guarding the safety of her emotions. Meanwhile, he really did still sleep with knives and a gun, waking in the small hours soaked in sweat with memories he'd much rather forget. She specialized in evasion and denial; he walled himself off and, evidently, specialized in being an idiot with women. At least, with Stephanie.

But she finally had chosen him. It was what he'd been waiting for, after all, and it had completely taken his breath away. She said she wanted to be even more than friends. Well, he could work with that. He'd never failed at a plan.

Not yet, and not this time.

He turned them around the curve of an empty table, slowly guiding their steps toward the other dancers. As he did, he spotted Julie looking at him. He knew that look from the mirror, too. That look said "proud of you."

He smiled down at Stephanie, holding nothing back. Two hundred watts, and more. "Thanks for the dance, Babe. You were right; this is a perfect way to start something new." She smiled back as he raised his hand to brush back her hair. Feeling her lean into his palm, as though into his soul, was all the reply he needed.

[The End]


End file.
